


the truth

by etheralavellan



Series: Pusher [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I’m sorry, Kinda?, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, Mando speaks, Medic - Freeform, and has feelings what, but keeps her cool, helmet stays on, no beta reader we die like men, reader is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22646548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etheralavellan/pseuds/etheralavellan
Summary: Mando makes more frequent visits, and you find yourself catching feelings.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Series: Pusher [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624099
Comments: 48
Kudos: 306





	1. Chapter 1

You lost count of the months that passed after your encounter with the mysterious Mandalorian. At first, you had held up some sort of childish hope that he would return to your door, sweet and talkative and ready to take you out for dinner as a thank you. But as the days ticked by, you realized how ridiculous that scenario would be. The man was likely a bounty hunter, always drifting from planet to planet, never tied down by something as complicated as feelings or even friendship. It was with that thought that you got on with your normal daily routines, the whole encounter eventually fading to the back of your mind like some faraway dream. 

Then the day came when a knock sounded outside your door shortly after you came home from work. A firm three, no nonsense knocks—not one you recognized from any of your regulars. With furrowed brows you stood and made your way across the room to crack the door open just enough to see who was on the other side. When your gaze was met with a familiar T-visor, you opened the door wider and stood to the side. 

The Mandalorian took the unspoken invitation without hesitation, striding into your home and turning to your questioning face. “Vibroblade,” was all he offered as an explanation before turning his left arm to you. 

You found yourself flushed when slashed fabric revealed a bit of toned, tanned tricep. You quickly turned to medic mode, however, when you noticed the gnarly gash adorning his arm. “Be right back,” was all you said before you went to retrieve supplies. You were glad it wasn’t too bad of a wound, considering it had been a while since you topped off on supplies. In fact, it looked like he could take care of it himself. May have been an awkward angle, but a mirror would be all it would take for him to see properly. 

You decided against saying anything. Maybe he didn’t have mirrors on his ship? You wouldn’t judge, and definitely weren’t going to complain about seeing the man again. Instead, you sat the Mandalorian down at your kitchen table, pulling up a chair in the light so you could get to work. You cleaned the wound and dressed it in silence, feeling the heavy weight of the man’s gaze on you as you worked. You wished you could see what expression he wore under the helmet. Was he watching you in awe of your work, admiring you in your natural environment? Or was he judging your every move, critiquing every step that he may do differently himself? You didn’t want to think about that. 

“Sorry, Mando, I’m all out of bacta at the moment. It’s just a good old fashioned dressing right now, but thankfully it’s not that bad. I’ll give you some antiseptic and some more supplies to take with you,” you explained. 

“That sounds fine,” he replied simply. Always a man of few words, it seemed. You gave a small sigh as you stood to put together a makeshift med kit for him to take. It was all together in a short amount of time, not nearly as much as you had had to give him the last time, and you reached it to him with a smile. He took it from your grasp and shook your hand in thanks, but made no move to stand. 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. He couldn’t wait to leave before. “Anything else I can do?” you questioned. 

He seemed to hesitate before answering. “Do… would you happen to have anything to eat?”

A small smile found its way through pursed lips as you nodded. “I can whip something up,” you replied softly, turning on your heel to get a simple dish together. 

The Mandalorian took his food to go again, but your heart was still left warm.

~*~

The next time you saw him he was knocking on your door—the same three plain knocks as before—as you were on your way back from picking up groceries. You nearly dropped an overfilled bag in pure excitement, but he was there to steady you in an instant. Sparks danced along your waist where his gloved hands gripped, but all too soon they were gone, instead taking the two sacks you were struggling with easily in one arm.

You fumbled with the keys more than you’d care to admit, but unlocked the door and invited him in in short order. He wordlessly helped you put away your groceries without you even having to ask for his help. 

As you tangoed around each other in the tiny kitchen, you were silently assessing him. You found no obvious signs of injury, no torn clothes or blood decorating the fabric or durasteel of his armor. When every food item found its place, you turned towards him with crossed arms and a hip cocked out, eyebrows raised in question. 

He rubbed an elbow in what could have been an act of nervousness or a clue to what was wrong, you couldn’t tell without seeing his face. “I, uh… may have broken an arm?” He offered as an explanation, sounding as though he need to convince himself. 

You tried to bite back a grin as you nodded. He didn’t seem to have any issues using either of his arms, but you played along nonetheless. With a hand gently placed on his vambrance, you looked up at where your best guess his eyes would be and asked, “May I?”

A curt nod was all you got in response as you began unclasping the armor adorning his right arm, and you wasted no time palpating every inch for any obvious dislocations. Totally medical purposes, absolutely not to feel the muscles of the arm beneath, for sure not to imagine how those strong arms would feel wrapped around you in an embrace. 

You flushed as you continued up toward his bicep, and you could have sworn you heard a modulated breath hitch from the Mandalorians helmet when you gently squeezed the flesh there. You may have let your hand linger a moment longer, savoring the touch before you pulled away, subconsciously biting your lower lip. 

You looked toward his helmet again to try to clear your mind. “Were any bones out of the skin? Any obvious bumps or dislocations you could notice?” you questioned, knowing in the back of your mind that it would be crossing a line to ask to remove the heavy canvas fabric covering his arm. 

He shook his head slightly, and you guided him through various range of motion exercises as final test before giving him a clean bill of health. “Everything seems fine to me, Mando. Maybe you just strained a muscle. Would you like some cold compresses to take?” 

“I think I’ll be alright,” he simply stated in that deep, honey coated modulated voice that you wouldn’t admit made you sigh like a school girl. He replaced his armor with surprising speed, but you supposed he was quite practiced putting it on. When he began walking, you were shocked to find that he was making his way further _into_ your house, toward the kitchen, rather than out the door. 

“Let me guess, something to eat?” You questioned, unable to fight off the small smile that found its way to your face and the butterflies in your belly. 

He sat down at the table and wiped his gloved palms on his legs as if he were wiping off sweat. Was he nervous? “Please.”

With a bright grin, thumbs up, and a ‘sure thing!’, you got to work throwing together a simple pasta dish. You tried your best to ignore the weight of the Mandalorian’s stare as you drifted all you around your humble kitchen, humming some random song you heard at the cantina a few nights back. 

When you were satisfied with the final touches, you placed the Mandalorian’s large portion in a to go container and handed it to him expectantly. When he took it from you but made no move to stand, you cocked your head to the side. 

“Could I…,” he started, then his helmet tilted down as though he couldn’t look at you. “Would you mind if I ate here? You couldn’t be in the room, but…” he trailed off. 

You placed a hand gently on his shoulder and his helmet turned back up to see the soft smile you wore. “Of course, you’re welcome to eat here any time.”

You provided him some silverware before you grabbed your own serving and made your way to the living room, choosing to sit on the couch with the back facing the kitchen. You made sure to keep your eyes trained forward as you heard a heavy helmet hit the table, desperate to not show any signs of disrespect. You were both shocked and honored he trusted you enough to eat with you even in the next room over, where you could so easily lean your head around the corner and peak in on his face. 

“I… appreciate all that you’ve done for me,” came a deep voice, untouched by a modulator and seemingly as smooth as silk. You felt your whole body heat up and tried to focus on anything other than the thought of that voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear. “I’m not sure how to repay you.”

“I told you, it’s what I do,” you explained, eyes fixed on the beige color of the stone wall in front of you. It felt odd not knowing what to look at for a conversation. “No sort of payment necessary.”

You only got a grunt in response, and you imagined he nodded his head slightly. Unwilling to let the conversation go just yet, you continued with the first thing that came to mind. “So it’s under absolutely no circumstance another person can see your face? Not even family?”

He took a moment to reply, and you were afraid you had offended him until his next sentence was definitely spoken around a bite of food. “I’ve heard of some clans being more lax with the Way. Some take their helmet off around immediate family; spouses, children, only wear them in public. My clan was always more strict. No living soul has seen my face since I’ve come of age.”

You pondered for a moment. It seemed a sad, cold life if even your loved ones couldn’t see your face. You weren’t going to judge, however. You supposed having a cold heart was the easiest way to produce such legendary warriors. “What about skin?” you questioned, curious if a boundary had been crossed. 

“Typically, no,” he stated. You heard his fork scrape the plate and there was another pause before he spoke again. “You’re the first person to see mine.”

You couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered, and you were glad he wasn’t able to see the dark shade of red your face turned. “I’m sorry if I was disrespectful. You’re the only Mandalorian I’ve met and I wasn’t so sure how to go about the treatment. If you were awake I would have asked.”

“No!” he quickly stated, then cleared his throat. “I mean, you did great. I’m just… shocked and thankful that you didn’t remove the helmet in those days.” You heard the unspoken words behind the sentence. _’It’s how I know I can trust you, and the only reason I’m even eating without a helmet in the next room over.’_

You were officially too flustered to speak after that sentiment, and the rest of your meal was enjoyed in comfortable silence. 

You had just finished scraping your plate clean when you heard heavy footsteps making their way to where you sat. You tilted your head back enough to see that the Mandalorian was standing directly in front of you, helmet firmly back in place. It was tilted down at you, just staring, and you once again found yourself wondering what expression the man wore under it. You knew his skin was bronzed, what color were his eyes? Did they soften when they saw you, was he old enough to have crow’s feet framing them? What about his hair? Was it well maintained, his face clean shaved? Or a long, wild muss of helmet hair?

You were shaken from your thoughts by his voice. “I suppose I’ll take my leave.”

Before the man could even turn around you were grasping his gloved hand and yelling “Wait!” He appeared shocked and stood in front of you as of waiting for an explanation. You weren’t sure what kind of courage (or stupidity) came over you, but you lifted his ‘broken’ arm, lips finding the bend of his elbow where there was no durasteel and pressing chastely against the area. “To make it better,” you explained with reddened cheeks. 

You were half expecting the Mandalorian to turn around and march out of your house, never to return. To your surprise, however, he placed one gloved hand on your waist and one on the back of your neck, pulling your body flush against his and gently resting his helmet against your forehead. The metal was cold and his armor wasn’t comfortable against your body but you returned his embrace nonetheless, one hand on his bicep and the other gripping the back of his neck, just below the helmet. You didn’t know what the gesture meant to him, but it felt strangely intimate and you were content to stay in that position for as long as he would allow. You inhaled deep through your nose, relaxing and savoring the moment. 

All too soon, the moment was gone. He pulled away with a disgruntled sigh and breathy “thank you” before turning on his heel and out the door. 

“See ya, Mando,” you muttered to his back, arms drawing close on yourself to try to mimic an embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos on the last work! Rating will go up to E for the next chapter for some smut. I still haven’t decided if this part will have two or three chapters. Right now I’m leaning towards three. And again, thank your for taking the time to read!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> full smut ahead

_Knock… knock… knock…_

Your ears perked up at the now familiar sound coming from your door, and you grabbed the nearest towel to wipe flour from your hands. You were attempting to make a pastry you had tried in the market earlier that week, filled with a tart fruit filling. This was at least your third attempt, but you held out hope this time would be a winner. 

In too big of a hurry to greet the visitor to bother cleaning up, you rushed through the living area to your front door, eagerly swinging it open and unable to hide your grin. You were greeted with the blank stare of a steel helmet, but the man behind it quickly grabbed you and held his forehead to yours, an embrace you’ve become familiar with over his last several visits. 

“What’s the problem this time, Mando?” you asked, pulling away gently to look into his would-be eyes. 

“I stubbed my toe,” he replied. 

You glanced down at his heavy boots and back up to his helmet with a smirk. “I’m _not_ kissing your toes better.”

“That’s a shame. What am I supposed to do now?”

You shook your head and grabbed a leather-clad hand. “Sweets can cure anything,” you explained as you practically dragged the large man to the kitchen. The warm, delectable scent from the pastries filled your nose and caused you to nearly salivate, and you briefly wondered if the Mandalorian could detect such smells from under that helmet. If he could, he didn’t comment on it. 

You grabbed a pair of mitts and opened the oven door, carefully pulling the first batch out and placing them on your counter. While they were still warm, you sprinkled some more sugar crystals on top and retrieved two separate plates. The Mandalorian rarely took his food to go these days, only when he was in a hurry to get off planet for a job. You enjoyed eating with him when you could, even if you weren’t eating _with_ him. The two of you had bonded over serious conversation, lighthearted banter, and comfortable silence alike. 

You learned that he wasn’t born as a Mandalorian, that he was adopted into his clan as what he dubbed a foundling. You found out he was reaching midlife and was unsure if he would ever father children of his own, but you were unable to tell if that was a sentiment that even bothered him at this point, considering his lifestyle. He spoke of his adventures as a bounty hunter and the worlds different jobs brought him to (you admitted you were slightly jealous that he got to travel and lead such an exciting life, but you weren’t sure you could ever leave this town as a medic; you had grown attached to this place and it’s people). You were eternally grateful he felt as though he could open up to you and trust you as much as he had. You could only imagine the risk he was taking building such an intimate… friendship? Relationship?

You shook the thought from your mind as you got two pastries together. Whatever this was, you were content and didn’t want to ruin things by asking those sorts of questions. A smile returned to your features as you made your way back to the Mandalorian, gently placing a plate in front of him. “Sorry if it’s not the best, I still haven’t perfected the recipe,” you chuckled nervously. 

“Anything is better than some of the seedy cantina food and rations I’ve had to live on,” he reassured. You couldn’t exactly argue with that. 

You let a hand linger on his shoulder before you retreated to the living area to eat on the couch. You listened for the heavy thump of his helmet hitting the table and a fork to hit the plate. You weren’t expecting to hear the faintest of moans as the pastry passed the Mandalorian’s lips. “Delicious,” he complimented with a mouth full of food. 

It fed your ego as you tried your first bite as well. It wasn’t bad, but it was missing a flavor you couldn’t put your finger on. Oh, well. The Mandalorian liked it and that was enough for you. 

He finished his serving in short time and joined you on the couch, leaning back with his hands on his knees. Your head barely came to his shoulders sitting next to him. You flushed imagining his broad frame over yours. You allowed your eyes to trail down his shoulders, arms, and finally down to his large hands. You noticed a splotch of yellow fruit filling he must have overlooked on his index finger. 

You weren’t sure what kind of confidence came over you as you mindlessly reached for the Mandalorian’s hand, slowly bringing it up to your face and deliberating only for a millisecond. You let your tongue run up and over the length of the digit, the tart taste of the fruit and salt of his glove filling your mouth. You heard a modulated hitched breath next to you, and it sent a rush of heat through your body and straight to your core. Taking it as a sound of encouragement, you suctioned your mouth around the finger for a few moments before pulling it out, looking up at the T of his helmet through your lashes. 

“You, uh, had some jelly on your hand,” you stammered when he didn’t react. Your face grew hot and you darted your eyes around the room, focusing on nothing in particular. The way he sat next to you in stoic silence made you believe you had crossed a boundary. He mentioned he was raised in a particularly strict clan, and adopted into it no less. Was he celibate? You mentally groaned and turned around to apologize. 

Your apology was quickly turned into a gasp of surprise as the Mandalorian turned around and pushed you down until you were laying back on the couch, him between your legs. _’Definitely not celibate,’_ you thought as he ground his hips into yours. 

He leaned his forehead onto yours in a way you’ve become familiar with, one hand on your neck and the other supporting his weight. “Do you know what your getting into?” he inquired, voice low and gruff through the modulator. It sent electricity through your body, and you instinctively bucked your hips against his, feeling a growing bulge against your core. You could hardly believe this was the same awkward Mandalorian who was nervous to ask for food. You figured this was a situation he was much more familiar and comfortable with. You couldn’t deny the mild intimidation. 

“No,” you replied honestly. “But I want it.”

With that, the Mandalorian groaned and dropped his helmet to your shoulder, rolling his hips against yours. At first, you tried to ignore the armor pinching and prodding at your delicate skin, but eventually the slight pain turned into pleasure. The friction was phenomenal, and you couldn’t help the small sounds and pleas of encouragement that spilled past your lips. You could already feel pleasure building, and neither of you had even shed any layers yet. Your lips were desperate to connect with his, fingers itching to touch skin. 

With a frustrated groan, you settled with digging your fingers into any crevasse you could find between durasteel and fabric. This earned a strained moan from the Mandalorian above you, and before you could register what was happening, your shirt was up and over your head. You weren’t sure where it landed, and you weren’t too concerned when you felt gloved hands caressing and squeezing all the newly exposed flesh, all the while the man was muttering praises that your brain was too foggy to comprehend. His durasteel was cool against your hot skin, but it was a welcome feeling. As deft fingers found a nipple and lightly pinched, you gasped. “Mando…” you muttered, almost immediately flushing. The nickname sounded too goofy for current events, but that’s all you knew to call him. 

“Din,” he provided, not bothering to slow his ministrations despite the obvious weight of the moment. 

The level of trust that gesture proved only served to heighten your pleasure. He was rewarded with a loud moan of his name as one hand made its way between your legs. You whimpered at the loss of contact between your hips as his fingers circled your core, avoiding touching where you so desperately needed. The only thing keeping you sane was Din’s other hand still working magic on your breasts. 

“Tell me what you want,” he practically demanded, voice husky with lust. 

How were you supposed to answer that? You wanted anything and everything the man would give at that point. You wanted him to touch you, skin to skin, him in you, anything. When you took a little too long to answer, his ministrations promptly came to a halt. He looked up at you, helmet tilted, and you could practically feel the challenging expression he had to have been wearing. 

“Kriff’s sake,” you groaned, “Just _touch_ me already!”

With that, Din peeled away your pants and his gloved hands made their way up your thighs, your breath hitching as they made their way closer and closer to your center. You threw your head back when a thumb finally landed on your clit through your underwear. He applied a welcome amount of pressure to the sensitive nub, but made no move, simply watching your reaction with an intrigued tilt of his helmet. 

A frustrated groan slipped past your lips as you wiggled your hips, desperate for some sort of friction. He allowed you to bring yourself some pleasure on his thumb before using his free hand to hold your hips still. “It’s what you asked for,” he explained with an amused lilt to his voice. 

You bit your lower lip. You were sure you would die of embarrassment if you gave him what he wanted, but you were growing increasingly desparate. “Please…” you drawled out on a moan. You were rewarded by him loosening his grip on your hips enough to allow you to wiggle against his thumb only slightly. It wasn’t enough. With the teasing touch, you bit back your embarrassment. “Make me come.”

“Good girl,” Din praised as he briefly stroked your cunt through your sopping underwear, providing some relief before he pulled them off completely and flipped you over. As he helped you find your balance on your knees with your ass high in the air, he only made one demand. “Keep your head forward, don’t look back.”

You obeyed, facing forward and closing your eyes tightly in order to avoid temptation. You couldn’t risk making him stop. 

Before you could even register that he had removed his gloves, you felt his warm, bare hands on your back, slowly making their way down to your ass where they took plenty of time to squeeze and massage and deliver a couple of firm smacks. You couldn’t help the moans spilling from your mouth. “Beautiful,” he complimented as his hands dropped to your thighs, a thumb once again grazing your core. He dipped it in your heat for only a second before using the lubrication to slowly circle your clit. 

This earned a gasp before his name began pouring out of your mouth like a mantra, your brain too fried to think of any other words. 

“I love the way you say my name, _mesh’la_ ,” he groaned, and you were vaguely aware of the sounds of various pieces of armor unclasping and falling the floor as he continued his tortuous pace. “You’re so wet for me,” he observed and he once again removed his thumb from your heat. 

You didn’t even have the time to protest before you felt the head of his cock pushing against your folds. Instead of pushing it in, Din chose to stroke your slit, covering it in the your own juices before he circled the tip around your bundle of nerves slowly, in the same manner as his thumb. The sensation was incredible, and served to build the pleasure, but you didn’t know how much more teasing you could handle. You needed _more_. 

“Please, Din,” you choked out. 

“Please what?” he asked as he dragged his length back to your opening, pressing against it only slightly. 

“Please fuck me!”

You registered a strained, modulated groan before he _finally_ entered you, moving slow so as to give you time to accommodate his impressive size. It took several moments for him to bottom out, and you were thankful you felt canvas fabric against your skin rather than cold armor. He began to rut against you, not yet thrusting but you were so sensitive at this point that the slightest movement provided relief. Mouth agape and eyes closed tight, you threw your head back in a silent scream. 

You weren’t trying to sneak look back, but as soon as your head moved a hand snaked into your hair and grasped, shoving your face back forward. Your walls clenched involuntarily at the unexpected action. 

“No turning around,” Din reminded, voice becoming increasingly strained. He punctuated the command with a hard thrust. 

Finally, some friction; you moaned so loud you were sure neighbors would hear, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Din began a punishing pace, one hand holding a tight grip on your hip to help slam your body back into his and one hand still lightly pulling your hair. The coil in your belly was wound so tight at this point that you weren’t sure how it hadn’t snapped yet. Every thrust of his hips against yours produced the most sinful sounds, and that combined with Din’s gruff groans had your own noises growing louder in volume, his name spilling off your tongue like it was all you knew how to say. 

Din adjusted his angle ever so slightly, and once he found that spot that made you scream, it was over. His pace became more sporadic, but every thrust was harder and just _right_ and he was babbling praises in some language you didn’t understand but just the sound of his voice was enough to send you running towards the edge. 

When he removed his grip from your hip and snaked his hand around to circle your clit, you felt your walls clench, gripping every inch of hardness he had to offer, and you could feel tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. The pleasure was almost overwhelming. You _needed_ to get off, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

Finally, _finally_ Din leaned forward. “Come for me, _mesh’la_ ,” he commanded, and that’s all it took. White hot pleasure took over, your whole body jerking as your walls squeezed him, attempting to milk him for all he was worth. 

You felt his hips stutter, but he continued his brutal pace long enough to ride out your orgasm. You felt him begin to pull out, but you weren’t ready for the emptiness. You wanted to feel him, all of him. Before your mind could process the words passing your lips, you were practically begging for him to come inside you. 

His pace slowed only for a moment as he seemed to deliberate. “Fuck it,” he finally stated, driving his cock into you at a speed you thought impossible, almost too much friction for your overstimulated insides, but still you wanted more. With a string of what you could only assume were expletives in his native language, he drove as deep into you as he could fit. The stretch stung, but the mild pain was relieved by the feelings of hot ropes of his come painting your walls. The thought alone was enough for you to tip over the edge a second time, savoring the feeling of his slowing thrust as his cock began to go limp inside you. 

You couldn’t help your whimper when Din pulled out of your heat, quickly tucking himself back in his pants and replacing his gloves as if you had the energy to try to sneak a peak. With a roll of your eyes that he couldn’t see, you collapsed on the couch. You felt your own juices mixed with his spilling out of you, but you didn’t have the energy to move to clean up as Din stood and made his way to the ‘fresher. 

He returned in short time with a warm, damp washcloth. You could barely hold your eyes open as he cleaned you up, taking care to be extra gentle around your sore center. When he was apparently satisfied, he picked you up with virtually no effort, carrying you to your own bed and gingerly placing blankets over you. 

“Thank you,” you muttered as you brought the covers to your chin. He didn’t reply, instead resting his forehead against yours and taking a deep breath in. There you sat for a long minute, basking in the afterglow and simply enjoying each other’s presence. By the time he pulled away and retreated from your home, you were already drifting into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven’t set a particular updating time frame but I feel like I’m late with this chapter so sorry about that ^_^’ Also, Still not sure how many chapters this one is going to end up. I’m leaning a little towards 4 but who knows lol. Anyways, thank you for the read and I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

There were sometimes weeks, sometimes even months between the Mandalorian’s visits, but he never left you questioning whether he would come back to you. It seemed he had even began taking more jobs on or near your planet, and stopped by any time he was even just flying past. You missed him when he was gone, and were always as giddy as a schoolgirl when he would come back. Without fail, he would knock on your door with some sort of excuse. They were oftentimes legit; you’d taken care of so many injuries on the poor man you knew his skin had to be absolutely littered with scars under all that durasteel. Still, you never fussed at him too much. He was a bounty hunter, after all, and it was a dangerous gig—you were just thankful he seemed to always make it out alive. Not that you had any right to ask him to stop if you wanted to; the two of you still hadn’t defined what exactly was going on between you. 

Although he was still awkward and nervous when it came to domestic intimacies and he never outright stated he had feelings for you, you knew it wasn’t just hot meals and medical treatment that kept him coming to your home. Even once after sex, an area where he was obviously experienced and confident in (and rightfully so), he admitted he had never trusted a partner enough to _not_ have them restrained and blindfolded for the entire encounter. You could have sworn your heart fluttered right out of your chest and you were close to putting your feelings into words then and there. Instead, you chose to tell him you wouldn’t be offended by restraints and blindfolds every now and again. He put them to good use a few times after that. However, the helmet never came off even with a blindfold. He said it felt like he was trying to find loopholes around the Way, and you respected his decision.

Not every encounter was about sex. You still valued your intimate conversations. Many evenings were spent with him removing his durasteel and just holding you, savoring what little touch you could provide him with through heavy canvas fabric. The man was touch starved, coming as no surprise to you, and you wanted to indulge him in any way you could without being disrespectful. You would hold him close, allow your hands to explore every inch of his body over fabric, squeezing overworked muscles and lips peppering kisses over any area you could reach through fabric and metal. The first time you merely held his hand, he acted like he wasn’t sure what to do; he likely hadn’t held a hand since he was a small child with his biological parents. 

You were shaken from your thoughts by three knocks coming from your door, and you couldn’t stop the bright grin that took over your features as you practically ran to it. You swung open the door, but your greeting died in your throat as you took in the Mandalorian before you. 

It was definitely Din, you could tell just by the way he carried himself. However, his usual durasteel armor was replaced by shiny new beskar, nicer than you could ever imagine. It had to be insanely expensive, and you chose not to think of what sort of dangerous jobs he had been taking in order to earn so much. 

The second thing that caught your attention was the floating pod next to him. It was shut tight, but looked like it could open to some sort of cradle. You tried to ignore the pang of hurt at the thought of him having a young child with someone else. You knew you had never made an exclusive arrangements and it was likely he had other conquests all over the galaxy he still regularly saw, but the naivety in you wanted to believe he was loyal to you. But what good would bringing a love child to you do? Was he going to break things off?

Finally, Din broke the silence. “I have a favor to ask.”

You struggled to tear your eyes away from the pod, but stepped aside to allow Din entry before you asked for details—not that you needed them to say yes. You would steal the stars out of the sky for this man.

Din sat on the couch, floating pod following him. When it stopped in front of him, he quickly pressed several buttons in an order you couldn’t keep up with if you tried and the pod opened to reveal a tiny green creature from a species you didn’t recognize. Definitely a child, but definitely _not_ Din’s. You felt simultaneously relieved and confused as you stepped forward to get a closer look. 

It was a small, wrinkly thing with huge brown eyes and ears that could be twice the size of its head. When its eyes turned to you, it reached out a stubby little arm. You carefully placed a finger in its hand, and it gripped it tightly with its three fingers. A small smile found its way to your face. It was actually pretty cute. 

“What is it?” you asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Din replied. “He has a bounty out that I took but I couldn’t leave him with the Imps.”

You furrowed your brows and turned your gaze to Din. “What do the Imps want with a child?”

He shrugged in response before standing next to you to look at the kid. “I’m going to try to find his own species. Or a home, at least.” 

“I can ask around work to see if anyone knows what he is. Maybe it’ll help,” you offered. 

Din seemed to consider it for just a moment, then shook his head. “His bounty was _very_ expensive,” he stated, pausing to gesture at his new armor. “They won’t let him go that easy. I don’t want to risk putting you in danger by asking around.”

You blushed at the caring sentiment and quickly dropped your gaze to the child. “What was the favor?”

A nervous hand rose to Din’s neck as he answered. “Would you mind watching him while I take a quick job?”

“I can’t believe you seduced me to use me as a babysitter,” you joked, scooping the child in your arms. You always loved kids, you definitely didn’t mind watching the cutie for a little while. 

“It’s just an escort job, it should only take a few hours,” Din explained before bumping his forehead against yours and placing a hand on the child’s little bald head. “I trust you’ll be good,” he stated pointedly to the child, who cocked his head and babbled back. _Adorable_. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Say bye!” you cooed in a baby voice before the Mandalorian turned to leave, taking one of the child’s hands in your own and waving. He giggled and babbled as Din disappeared. 

“What do you eat?” you wondered aloud, taking the child to kitchen and placing him atop the table before turning to your fridge. You held up many fruits and veggies, and each one the child would curl his lips in what seemed to be disgust. Finally, you found some leftover meat and brought it to the child. At the sight (or smell? You had no idea how his specie’s senses worked) of the meat, a smile took over the child’s face and he reached his stubby little arms out excitedly. 

“Carnivore, got it,” you made a mental note as you prepared two plates. You cut up the meat into bite sized pieces for the child and stuck with the fruits and veggies for yourself. When you sat down and presented the food to the child, you were astonished at how fast he scarfed it down. There’s no way he chewed any of it. 

You raised your eyebrows in some mixture of astonishment and amusement, and the child got up and waddled across the table to toward you. Little hand outstretched, he touched a finger to one of your brows and traced it before moving it to your hair. Having worked with kids before, you instinctively flinched and prepared for a hard tug, but it never came. Instead, he gently ran his fingers through the lengths and picked up the end to stare at it curiously. 

Soon, he dropped the strands and his hand returned to your face, gently touching your nose and dragging across your cheek and back down your jawline. At first, your confusion was evident, but then realization set in. He’s used to hard steel and a cold helmet, and probably not much interaction. Your heart ached in your chest. You had no doubts Din would provide and protect for the child just fine, but kids need love and affection to thrive. 

With that thought in mind, you closed your eyes and relaxed while you let the child explore your face with his fingers. Surprisingly, he was gently and never jabbed or pulled, even when skimming his fingers over your closed eyelids. He seemed particularly intrigued by your nose, taking up a larger portion of your face than his own did and combined with the fact that Din’s helmet had no hints to a nose. 

After what seemed like forever, the child dropped his hand and sat down in front of you. You opened your eyes to meet his , and your heart practically melted at the amazing grin that graced his features. The thought of having kids of your own—with Din—briefly crossed your mind. In order to shake the unattainable dream, you scooped the child up in your arms and hugged him close, standing to head to the living room. You laid down on the couch with the child snuggled close to your chest, and soon you both drifted into a peaceful slumber.

~*~

You were awoken by the sound of heavy, frantic footsteps entering your home. With a yawn and a stretch of the legs, arms still squeezing the snoozing child, you slowly squinted your eyes open to look up at a familiar helmet. “Good morning, sunshine,” you muttered sleepily. The Mandalorian’s harsh stance seemed to soften.

“You didn’t wake up when I knocked and the door was unlocked. I was worried,” he explained, dropping to a knee and checking on the child before resting the cold metal of his forehead against your own. 

You removed one hand from the sleeping child and placed it on the back of Din’s neck to hold him closer, sleepy and affectionate. “No need to worry. We’re fine.”

You heard a modulated chuckle, and it was like music to your ears. Din pulled back, and you allowed your hand to drift down to his and squeeze. He softly squeezed back as he looked over to the child. “You could have let him nap in his cradle. It would be more comfortable for you.”

You opened your mouth and took a a short breath, then closed it. You weren’t quite sure how to confront a Mandalorian when it came to raising a child. With no game plan, you spoke anyway. “Din… do you ever just hold him? Let him sleep on you like this?”

Din seemed taken aback when he shook his head. Your heart ached thinking about the fact that he was raised with such a lack of affection after the death of his biological parents. 

“Kids need touch and love and affection to develop and thrive. Obviously I don’t know much about his species in particular, but that fact seems to hold true for him,” you explained. You paused to wait for a lecture on the Way, but it never came. Din simply cocked his head to the side, listening intently. “I know it’s not the easiest with the Way, but the smallest things can help. Like how you take off the steel and cuddle with me? Do that with the kid every now and again. And carry him, not just to put him in the pod.”

Din pondered for a moment, then decidedly stood up and began unclasping beskar. Soon, it was all on the floor in a neat pile and you sat up and scooted over, allowing him room to sit down. Gently, you handed him the sleeping child. He yawned, but didn’t wake up. When Din simply sat there with the child held slightly out from his body, you guided him to lie back against the couch and relax, and brought the child to his chest. He looked awkward and slightly uncomfortable, but he was trying and that made your heart swell with pride. With a soft smile, you sat next to him and rested your head on his shoulder, hand splayed across his abdomen. 

And so the three of you sat in peaceful silence for a while, the only sounds rhythmic breathing. Your eyelids were once again growing heavy when Din spoke, modulated voice making you jump slightly. “You should…” he began, then stopped and took a deep breath. “Would you come with us? On the ship? He needs someone like you with him,” he offered. “And I’d like to have you around, too,” he added softly enough that you had to strain to hear. 

You swore your heart leapt out of your chest. You would get to be with the love of your life and raise an adoptive son together; it seemed too good to be true. Just as you were about to give a resounding ‘yes’, you realized it _was_ too good to be true. The child traveling with Din was only a temporary situation. Would he leave you after he found the kid a home? You didn’t want to be a temporary in Din’s life. Not to mention you had never been off planet before. It wouldn’t be smart of you to quit your job and leave for a life you weren’t sure you could live. There was also the lingering possibility that you wanted more from this relationship than Din did. You couldn’t go with him, and you explained the reasonings as gently as possible. 

Luckily, Din was a very reasonable man. He understood completely, and didn’t try to pressure you or guilt trip you or make you feel bad about your decision. He agreed to continue to come see you and allow you to babysit regularly, and to give him any advice you could offer. 

Before leaving, Din placed the child into his pod and held you close in an embrace that seemed to last an eternity, and that you didn’t want to end. This was very well the most heartbreaking goodbye the two of you had shared yet, but you knew your Mandalorian would be back and you trusted in your gut that you made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About to wrap up with some angst oops! Decided on four chapters for this one and one more work that will likely be two. Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and given kudos—I appreciate it all and I hope you all like it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut and angst and angst and smut :)

After Din discovered the child was being tracked, his visits became painfully infrequent. He explained the situation to you, of course—he didn’t want you jumping to any brash conclusions. You simply meant too much for him to bring the child to your home for what was sometimes days while he took jobs. It was putting both you and the kid in danger, and Din wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to either of you. 

He sighed deeply and turned to look at the child sleeping soundly in his pod. It was the looming threat the Imps posed that was driving him to take the risk on this mission. His chest grew tighter and heavier with what he could only describe as heartache with each passing day that he couldn’t see you. Damn, he wished he were better at identifying and handling these emotions. He never expected a medic from some generic desert planet on that fateful day would have such a huge impact on his life. 

The fuzzy feelings—love, he assumed—that consumed him when thinking about you or the child caused him great moral distress. He began considering the Way in a manner he never had before. He’d always followed it blindly, apathetically, never questioning the cold lifestyle. However, it hurt him to think this child whom he almost considered a son would never know his face—that he could never give you a shot at anything resembling a normal relationship. You never complained, though, never would. He admired you for the dedication. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to love someone you could never see nor truly touch. 

Softly, Din placed a gloved hand on the child affectionately before locking the pod and hiding it away in the Razor Crest. He would only leave the child unattended long enough to pay you a visit, then he’d be back. He just needed some time alone with you.

~*~

He sat with you wrapped in his arms, hard beskar stacked on the floor. He explained to you the mission, the danger of it, the unspoken but well understood possibility that he may not return. You were crying into his shoulder, and his heart clenched painfully. He hated to cause you such pain. You had been such a happy constant in his life for so long now.

He couldn’t fight the tears that streamed from his own eyes. He didn’t let you know he was crying. He had to comfort you, squeezing you tight and rubbing smalls circles into your back and pressing his helmet on the top of your head—he wanted to pepper kisses there, but had to settle. 

You shook him from his own sorrowful thoughts by straddling his hips, bloodshot eyes and tear stained, puffy cheeks coming face to face with him. His lip quivered at the sight, but he relaxed slightly when you began pressing soft kisses to his helmet. He sighed and rested his hands on your hips, leaning his head back to grant your lips access to his fabric covered neck. He sighed when you turned your attention there, and silently wished he could feel the warmth, the softness of your kisses against his skin. 

“Make love to me,” he heard you mutter against his neck, and he involuntarily groaned. He had gained plenty of expertise in fucking, as he had shown you many times in the past, but the Way limited his ability to actually make love. He’d be damned if he wouldn’t try for you. 

Gently, Din pressed his forehead to yours and lifted you with ease, your legs wrapped securely around his hips and arms around his neck. He carried you to your bedroom, laying you down with care and climbing atop of you. He dropped his forehead to yours once more before taking your hands in his gloved ones and bringing them to his helmet. He puckered up as if he were kissing them with his own mouth as he pressed them softly against the cold steel. He was glad you couldn’t see how pitiful he probably looked. 

The gesture was obviously there, as fresh tears streamed down your face. Without hesitation, he wiped them away and dragged a thumb down your lip to allow some connection. You pressed a soft kiss against the digit, and he sighed softly. 

Carefully, he dragged his hands down your body, large hands lingering on you breasts for only a moment before he peeled your shirt over your head and tossed it to the side. He then removed his own gloves, watching you as he did so. You respectfully kept your gaze trained on his helmet, eyes not drifting down for even a second. He wanted so badly to tell you that you could look, it was fine, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He was torn. 

Choosing to try to ignore his inner struggle, he brought a bare hand back to your breast while his other supported his weight so as to not crush you. He couldn’t decide whether to watch your face contort in pleasure as he tweaked and squeezed and massaged, or to look down and admire not only your body, but the sight of his tanned skin on yours. Such a simple thing always got him going in ways restraints or lingerie could never. 

“You’re perfect, mesh’la,” he complimented, dropping his hand to your waist and squeezing and dragging it back across your abdomen, admiring the way your muscles flinched at his touch. “So kind, so caring, so beautiful.”

His praises earned a whimper and he wasn’t even touching you in a manner to cause it yet. This only served to encourage him as he dropped his hand to your core, softly rubbing through your pants. “Sometimes I think you’re a dream. It’s hard to leave, I’m afraid I’ll wake up and never see you again.”

He couldn’t stop the words spilling from his lips, and he wasn’t sure he would if he could. This could be the last time he saw you, he _needed_ you to know how he felt. He couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to him and leaving you thinking you were just some convenient fuck. 

When you were a whining, whimpering mess, hips struggling to wiggle against his hand, Din pulled away to pull off your last layers of clothes. He didn’t return to his ministrations right away; he had to pause to take in the sight before him. You were the most beautiful thing he had seen in this moment, in any moment. Your chest was flushed and heaving with arousal, nipples peaked to the cold air. Your thighs were spread, leaving your pink center on full display for him. It was glistening, and he dipped a finger into the wetness. 

“Gods, I wish I could kiss you, taste you,” he stated as he worked another finger deeper into your heat, slick wetness and warmth coating them and making him groan. You were moaning his name, still not looking down to his hands. He shook that thought from his head as he shifted uncomfortably, desperate for some friction against his erection. He shamelessly ground into your leg, and you didn’t seem to mind. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Din cursed softly as he brought his soaked fingers from your cunt, lubricating your clit quickly before sinking them back in and swirling his thumb around the bundle of nerves. He was rewarded the a high pitched squeal as your brows furrowed in absolute pleasure. He indulged his fantasies again at the sight. 

He licked his lips and swallowed, mouth dry and desperate to be on you. “I’d kiss these perfect legs of yours, all the way up to your cunt. I’d kiss all around it, wouldn’t miss a spot until you were begging me for more— _shit_.” He felt your walls clench around his fingers at his voice, your panting and moans and incoherent babbling coming faster. “When you couldn’t take it anymore, then I’d give you what you—what we—need. I’d lick up all your juices, fuck you with my tongue until you couldn’t take it anymore and you would be begging for my cock, but you wouldn’t get it yet. You’d come on my face and _fuck_ , mesh’la, I’d take all you would give me, drown in it.”

The way you were thrashing about, screaming his name like a prayer and your walls fluttering around his fingers signaled your impending release. He was embarrassed to admit that he was also close just from the fantasy of eating you out, precum staining the fabric of his pants as he continued to grind against you. Ready for you to come undone, he sped up the pace of his hand and continued dreaming aloud. 

“Then, once you were a wet, trembling mess, I’d kiss my way up that body of yours, right up to your lips. I’d make sure you tasted yourself on me as I kiss you,” he shuddered, and that was it. The simple image of him getting to _kiss_ you, and you came hard around his fingers. He grunted and dropped his head to your shoulder, gently working you through the intense orgasm as your mouth hung open in a silent scream. It was a beautiful sight, one he’d cherish forever, knowing he was the one who made you like this. 

He didn’t give you long to recover, removing himself from the confines of his pants and pressing the head of his cock to your sensitive clit. He ran it over your slit slowly, shuddering at the feel of your slick covering him. Din peaked down, the sight of his length soaked and half covered in your folds an erotic one. 

He returned his gaze to your face, ready to ask for explicit consent when mantras of “please, Din,” began pouring from those pretty lips, swollen from you biting them. 

He wished they were swollen from his own lips and teeth, but he tried to ignore the thought as he slowly pushed into your heat, going back and forth between watching himself disappear inch by inch and watching your face contort in wicked pleasure. 

Finally, Din bottomed out with an almost pornographic groan of his own. “Good girl,” he praised softly as you whimpered; he knew it was a stretch for you each time. “You take me so well, mesh’la.”

Soon enough, you moaned and wiggled against him, friction causing him to toss his head back in pleasure. _Fuck_ , he was already so close, but he didn’t want it to end, not when this may be the last time he got to be inside of you. 

Din began slow, shallow thrusts, dropped his head to your shoulder. Every sound you made was so close to his ear, so loud, and he wanted so badly to be able to feel your breath against it with each delectable sound that poured from your lips. 

“The sounds you make, the way you say my name, I love them.” _I love you_. “I could stay right here and listen to you all day, mesh’la,” he stated. He wasn’t sure why he was so talkative. Perhaps it was the impending doom, perhaps it was the way your walls squeezed him and legs wrapped around his waist tighter with each word that he uttered. 

Din’s hips stuttered as he felt a familiar warmth in his belly growing. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. With some struggle, he peeled his clothed body from your naked one just enough for him to reach a thumb to your clit, rubbing in circles in time with the quickening snaps of his hips. “Come with me,” he requested. 

And that’s all it took for the coil to snap. A high-pitched moan of his name tore from your throat as your back arched off the bed, breasts pushing into his chest. Your legs tightened impossibly around his waist, forcing his hand out from between your bodies as your dripping heat squeezed and milked him for everything he had. The sight, the sounds, the feeling, it was all too much—his hips ground frantically into your own, chasing his own impending climax while riding out yours. 

His vision went white and he pressed as far into you as he could possibly manage, hot ropes of his come being milked from him, drowning any sane thought from his mind. “ _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_ ,” Din confessed his love before he could filter the words coming from his mouth. 

Thankfully, you seemed not to linger on it, likely passing it off as his usual Mando’a babbling during sex. 

Din felt himself softening inside of you and decided to pull out, earning a soft whimper from the both of you, oversensitive. He dropped his helmet to your forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath in to try and calm himself. Gods, this shouldn’t be this hard.

After a long moment, Din attempted to get up to retrieve a warm washcloth to clean you up, but you held him firmly in place. He cocked his head to the side inquisitively. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you said softly. You placed your hands over either side of his helmet, where his cheeks would be, and smiled as fresh tears began to well in your eyes. “Just… spend time with me while you can.”

He couldn’t deny the request if he wanted to. Din grasped one your hands with his bare one—you quickly snapped your gaze up before you could catch a glimpse—and brought your palm over where his mouth is, imagining pressing a gentle kiss to it. He hoped the gesture was comforting. 

Your lips pursed and tears began to roll, and he couldn’t tell if he was being as comforting as he wished to be. He fought the stinging at his own eyes as he quickly wiped the salty fluid from your face with his thumbs. “I wish I could kiss these away,” he stated softly. You nodded in agreement, eyes up and away from his bare skin. 

The respect you showed tugged at his heart like nothing else could. With a shaky breath, Din collapsed next you, pulling you close until your head rested comfortably on his chest, one arm wrapping easily around your form. “I’ll do whatever I can to come back to you,” he promised, hands mindlessly playing with your hair as your own breaths evened out, falling into what he hoped was a peaceful slumber. 

Peeling away from you and heading back to the Razor Crest was without a doubt the hardest thing Din had ever done in his life.

~*~

You sighed as you waddled to the window, peaking out of it in hopes of seeing your Mandalorian confidently strolling to your doorstep, stomach grumbling for a homemade meal. Alas, your gaze was just met with normal bustling of citizens through the street, no one quite standing out like Din would.

It had been several months since Din left for that mission. You would have lost track of time, had it not been for your swelling belly. You rested your hand atop it and rubbed absentmindedly as you thought. 

You held on to that promise that Din made that he would do whatever it took to come back, but it was hard to stay hopeful with the amount of time passing. You didn’t want to think of the fate of the mission, a poor outcome seeming more and more likely with each passing day.

Despite your naïve hope that he would return, you were thankful for one thing. Even if you never saw Din again, you’d have a piece of him with you forever to love and cherish, and that was the greatest gift he could have left you with—intentional or not. 

You glanced down at your round bump and tried to push away the thought that if he did return, he may reject the baby, and, by extension, you. The idea brought tears to your eyes. 

_’Fuck these hormones,’_ you thought as you returned your gaze to the window, waiting for a familiar set of armor to come into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo.... way more angst than I meant for it to be, I’m sorry ^.^’ The next work should make up for it I hope. Thank you for the support on this story, I hope you enjoyed it and stick around to finish the last installment!


End file.
